Chapter 1

In the luxurious bedroom a lone figure slept. It was not a peaceful slumber as evidenced by the jumble of sheets tangled around his body. The silk duvet lay strewn on the floor, along side a few of the pillows.

The antique French dresser that stood like a sentinel at the other end displayed photos of a young family. In one, a dark haired woman sunbathing on a beach. Around her, four children in various stages of play...obviously her brood. A young teenage girl sat near her mother engrossed in a book. A boy, a little younger, were watching his two brothers, perhaps toddlers, build a sandcastle. A handsome man in dark glasses and a baseball cap lay dozing next to her. On his arm, a fading tattoo of the Superman logo.

Next to the dresser a plush side chair sat holding the remnants of a hurried exit. A pair of jeans ready for the wash, and thrown haphazardly on top of it, a T-shirt that read 'Philly Soul'. On the back of the chair hung a leather jacket with red wings embroidered on the back, forgotten in the haste.

The figure stirred. He got up and dropped his legs down, sat on the edge of the bed and raked his hands through his near waist length hair. Groaning, he stood and walked towards the small sliver of light coming from under the door. As he did, he ran right into the tall etagier, nearly knocking the crystal candle holders to the floor.

Who the hell put this here in my room?

He turn and walked a few steps backwards trying to get a sense of where he was and bumped into the back of the couch in the sitting area.

What the fuck?! Where is this?

He tried to recall the events of last night. They had gone for a night out which had turned into a binge. He and his band mates. Their album had just gone platinum. They each knew in their gut that this would be the album.

He remembered something about strippers in the shower but not much else.

Was that last night or was it during recording? Why can't I remember?

I'm twenty five years old and can't handle a fucking drink. Although that idiot Alec is worse -- sprawled out on the floor like sick dog.

He snickered as he thought of his bass player's prone position.

He groped through the dark until he finally found the door knob. He turned it and stepped out into a long hallway and crept down the sweeping staircase.

Whose house is this? How did I get here? Where the hell is everybody else?

As he came upon a landing, he looked over the side down to the elegant foyer. Not a soul.

What time is it?

Reaching the bottom, he continued to wander through the house. He walked past what seemed to be the family room, dotted with comfortable looking couches and chairs. There was a huge screen of some kind on the far wall. What is that? In front of that sat a small box with cords coming out of it. Attached to the cords were what looked like remote controls. He stepped closer to get a better look. Next to the box lay several flat rectangular boxes with pictures of race cars and basketball games. He opened one. In it was a silver disc - he knew what that was.

Who the hell would want CDs of auto racing or basketball?

To his left he saw what he supposed was the formal living room and gazed in awe at the expensive furnishings and antiques placed tastefully around the room. An ornate blue couch caught his eye. It looked French but he wasn't sure.

Cool. I have to get me one just like that.......someday.

He walked further down the hall and found the kitchen. The lights were on and he thought he heard someone...or something in there.

Maybe he or she could tell me where I am.

The man had the refrigerator door open and was rummaging through it looking for something. He wore a pair of sweats but no shirt. His dark hair was just short of shoulder length. Even from the back he looked like.....but it couldn't be. This guy was much older and a bit heavier, but there was an unmistakable sign. A tattoo of a winged guitar on his upper right arm.

"Rich?"

Richie turned at the sound and dropped the can of Coke at the same time his mouth fell open. The carbonated beverage retaliated by bursting open and spewing its contents around the pristine kitchen floor, but it went ignored. Nothing short of an atomic blast could detract from the sense of shock that permeated the room.

For long moments, neither man spoke.


"What the fuck?! Jon?!?! It can't be! Who the fuck are you and how did you get in here?"

*****